


Pistachio

by Marmosette



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Greek GNP, Greg's dad makes ice cream, Iran, M/M, Mycroft is just too complicated, pistachios
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:52:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmosette/pseuds/Marmosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has put together a deal. It involves the economic crisis, two national economies, and Greg's dad. Why? Because it's Mycroft and he doesn't do simple. If it's anything smaller than the economy of a small nation, he's not interested. And ice cream, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pistachio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheffiesharpe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheffiesharpe/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the revolution starts everywhere](https://archiveofourown.org/works/347564) by [sheffiesharpe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheffiesharpe/pseuds/sheffiesharpe). 



> I borrowed Sheffie's Dad Lestrade for this, because it is for Sheffie's birthday. But the rest is my fault.

“Greg, I need to have a word with you.”

“Yeah, just a minute, this is almost caramelized.”

Mycroft turned back to his e-mail, hesitating, but hit send. Nothing was final. If he had to retract the offer, then there would have been an argument in any case. He was reasonably certain that he could convince Greg. 

He heard Greg shifting things about in the kitchen, and straightened his shoulders. No. This was not business. It was, but this was Greg, and if he approached it as anything else, it would be disastrous. And it was Greg’s decision, no matter how sizable, or how much he objected.

“So what’s going on?” Greg asked, falling onto the sofa next to him and craning to look at his phone. “Some kind of crisis?”

“There’s no shortage of them,” Mycroft admitted, but set his phone aside, folding his hands. “I was thinking about your father, actually.”

Greg blinked in surprise, and smiled. “He get in touch with you?”

“Actually, I got in touch with him.”

“Has he done something?”

Mycroft couldn’t stop a smile. “You could say that. His recipe for ice cream.”

“The ginger one? Did you get it from him?”

“Not exactly. The pistachio. He still won’t give it to you?”

Greg’s eyes widened and he broke into a wicked grin. “What did you do, hack his computer and steal it?”

“And if I had?”

“Well, you haven’t. You should, though.”

Interesting. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“If you had, you would just give it to me, and you’d have arranged to have supplies on hand. And I’ve just been in the kitchen, and there aren’t any pistachios.”

“Would I be so obvious?”

“Oh my God, you _did_ get it?”

“No, I don’t have it. But I might be able to get you access.”

“Now this is unfair. You can’t break into my family and broker an exchange of hostages between me and my own father. That’s just not right.”

“Not as such.”

Greg paused. “Okay, this is starting to sound serious. What are you up to?”

Mycroft looked away. “What if your father’s ice cream could be produced by someone else?”

Greg squirmed around to sit sideways, facing Mycroft. “I’d say it’s impossible, because he’d never let go of the recipe and he’d never be able to take that on by himself.”

“Granted. But if he could be persuaded to allow certain aspects of it to be replicated?”

“On what kind of scale?”

“Sufficient that it would be available in London. With an eye on the US market, eventually.”

Greg whistled in awe. “Look, I know you’re good. Persuasive, and all. And he likes you, yeah. But... the US is kind of impossible. I mean, one little shop on a corner is one thing.”

“I’m talking about mass production.”

“I was afraid of that. He’s never going to go for it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just too much for him to take on. He’s retired. He’s happy. He doesn’t want the headaches of... I mean, it’d have to be its own line, and no one’s going to care about a creamery that only does one thing.”

“He has been known to do others.”

“You’re serious? A whole line, then? That really _is_ going to be too much for him.”

“What I was focusing on was just the one flavour, true. But if necessary, as a point of negotiation, he has others.”

“Well, yeah.”

“We know from experience that your father’s recipe is superlative, and can be replicated.”

“We _do?”_ Greg pounced. “That means you’ve got someone else to make it, someone other than Dad, and it was good. Which means you got the recipe out of his hands, and in someone else’s, and it wasn’t me. And we’ve established that you haven’t got the recipe, so what exactly is going on here?”

“You are correct. I...persuaded him to let someone else try to duplicate it, according to his recipe, and the results were positive. Arrangements have been made for a small test batch to be made and marketed, and should that be positive as well, there is a firm interested in putting it into production, and considering future recipes as well.”

“This is already done,” Greg said, clarifying.

“Not done, but... things are in place.”

“And Dad’s okay with it.”

“He has been persuaded.”

“You keep saying that. It’s making me nervous. What did you say to him?”

“I...put him in touch with some people.”

“What, hitmen? Someone who threatened him?” Greg’s words were light, and he was still smiling, but uncertain and wary. Mycroft could almost hear his thoughts. _He wouldn’t threaten my Dad, but how else could he “persuade” him? Theft? Lying?_

“Bribery,” Mycroft said, bluntly. “You’re aware of the Greek economic crisis?”

“I do see the news occasionally, yeah.”

“Greece is the largest producer of pistachios in Europe.”

“You’re...using my Dad to help rescue the economy of a member of the EEC?”

“Hardly a drop in the bucket,” Mycroft waved it off.

“Then why did you bring it up? No,” Greg went on, holding up one hand to stop the answer. “It may just be one drop, but you’ve got a whole bucket with quite a few drops in it. I know you. What else is involved?”

“Without getting too tangled in the intricacies, Iran.”

“Jesus.”

“You know I wouldn’t -”

“Yeah, I know, it’s not like you’re sending him into battle.”

“Your father is not exactly a pivotal player.”

“Well, he is, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Greg countered, then waved him off again. “But yeah, I know my family’s safe with you. Because of you.” Greg frowned, but reached across and picked up Mycroft’s hand. “Does he know all the details?”

“He knows what is necessary for him to make a business decision.”

“So, financially, it’s safe for him?”

“He will get paid a substantial amount for his creation, and there will be a retainer as well.”

“And that was your idea.”

“They know that he has other recipes. The contract is forgiving. Or, rather, encouraging. A period of exclusivity, but preferential treament for future recipes.”

“And who went over this?” Greg asked, clearly suspecting the answer. Mycroft didn’t stoop to the bait, and simply raised his eyebrows. Greg accepted the answer. “Okay. Is there any downside to this at all?”

“Well... yes.”

Now Greg’s face lost all humour. “What have you done?”

“You’ve already covered it,” Mycroft said quickly, puzzled now himself.

“What?”

“The fact that I have to sit here and tell you, as gently as possible, that your father has sold the rights to his recipe for pistachio ice cream, and that you will be able to buy it in a shop, but you will never be able to make it yourself.”

Greg snorted, then laughed, then quieted again, all rather quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I can see why you’d be nervous, having to tell me that.”


End file.
